The Railroad
by thedobowobo
Summary: In the decades before the Lone Wanderer emerges from vault 101 for the first time, a small town far to the North faces a threat far greater and more corrupting than it could ever imagine...
1. Chapter 1

_War. War Never Changes. _

_The Apocalypse came as many had predicted. Though mankind would boast an understanding of reason, logic and an intellect far superior to that of any other creature, he was ultimately to prove himself no different from the very same beasts with which he shared his planet. Though the work of scientists brought much understanding about the world in which he found himself, and how to use this knowledge to improve the luxuries and indulgences of life, man never learnt to control the most dangerous threat of all- himself. _

_So it was that in the year 2077, Humanity would pay the ultimate price for his ignorance. Across the planet, wave after wave of nuclear warheads were unleashed in a convulsive bout of systematic destruction. The World, as it was known, was lost forever. Those lands which were not directly struck were extinguished of life by the thick, suffocating blanket of nuclear fallout. Yet the end of all life had not yet come. Those deemed worthy of preservation by the 'Old World' and its values were spared the hell of the nuclear fires by sheltering in a vast network of underground vaults. Here, the pitiful vestiges of humanity resided for a generation as an eerie silence descended upon the Earth._

_When they at last emerged, the vault dwellers set out across the wastes in search of new hope. They found none. Though societies and communities were established over time, humanity struggled to find its place in the harsh, merciless nuclear deserts. Somewhere in the hills North of the Capital Wasteland, a small town of little more than one hundred wastelanders is one of these oases of humanity. Unbeknownst to the inhabitants, the little community will shortly be thrown into the midst of a struggle between two great powers, and face a threat that will corrupt its very core more than it could ever have imagined…_


	2. Chapter 2

'Here, halt the column. We'll rest here for the night'

D'Angelo sighed with relief as he reigned in the lead animal of his fifty man convoy. Glancing back down the column, His weary eyes picked out a small, stocky armed guard pacing steadily down towards him amidst the mass of leather-clad pack escorts as they rushed to lead their Brahmin to the hastily erected overnight pen and enjoy a well earned drink. Fumbling his shirt pocket for one of his remaining cigarettes, he smiled toothily as the approaching figure waved his weapon skyward in greeting.

'How you holding up, D? That bum leg still bothering ye?' the guard asked softly as the pair drew up together.

'Ha, I'd almost forgotten about that, Gary, you lil' punk. Why'd you remind me?' chuckled D'Angelo as he accepted the guard's proffered lighter with a curt nod.

'Tell you what though my friend, this here heat is enough to take anyone's mind off of the worst of pains. Darn Good thing the Sun's settin' 'erself down at last- you got the sentries posted?'

'Naturally', the guard replied as he pocketed the lighter and began fiddling absently with his weapon's loading mechanism. Taking his eyes off the guard's weapon, D'Angelo turned and surveyed his convoy's refuge for the night. He had led the party into a steep sided valley, protected on three sides by several hundred foot cliffs, packed full of jagged rocks that protruded out at menacing angles like the maw of some giant wasteland beast. The entrance to the valley was narrow- no more than forty foot wide, D'Angelo estimated, and could easily be defended by the caravan's available sentries. Shielding his eyes from the merciless glare of the Wasteland Sun, he cast his eyes up to the cliff tops and grunted in approval as he made out the silhouettes of more armed sentries.

'Well, looks like we'll have the area locked down pretty good. What say you join me for a bite of chow?'

Further back down the line, Nick smiled to himself as he heard a collective ripple of relief when the order to stop for the day was barked out along the column. tugging roughly on his Brahmin's rope, he joined the crowd as the now lively ranks of escorts started to push their way impatiently to the pen in order to unload the beasts and settle them down for the night. Turning to his right, Nick couldn't help but stare as his gaze was drawn down to the object that had been the focus of much attention and examination over the the past few days. Calvin, his work partner and a loyal friend, had recently bought himself a mint 10mm pistol- the first weapon of any of his friends. Just recently, a particularly elaborate trade caravan (with an equally impressive contingent of caravan guards) from way out West had stopped by their home village, and though almost all the goods were simply out of the price range of almost all the townspeople (the town's collective budget was used to upgrade the communal armory), Calvin had casually dug into his savings and treated himself to a 'little toy', as he had called it. Savings? Nick had known nothing about Calvin's savings at the time. That was one of the many things about Calvin that Nick admired. He was so relaxed and laid back that it juxtaposed almost comically with the rest of the townsfolk, who were, for the most part(though certainly not all), jumpy, fearful and skittish. Whilst most of the townspeople had the tendency to drown their sorrows at the Town's booze pit (Nick included) or lose their earnings gambling, Calvin had no such interest. Although he had been delighted for his friend and thoroughly appreciated Calvin's offer to let him use it whenever he so desired, inwardly Nick seethed at having squandered his weekly wages at the Town's booze pit each night. On this bitter note, he joined his friend as they unloaded their Brahmin inside the pen and then headed towards the base of the cliffs to find a suitable spot to rest for the night.

A short while later, with night having fallen and the entire company content with full bellies, Calvin and Nick joined their comrades around a great fire in the centre of the camp. The mood was amiable; guards and drivers bantered to one another heartily as they shared their water flasks (and even the odd whiskey bottle), comfortable in the knowledge that their fellow sentries were keeping a watchful eye on the now cold, empty wastes so many of them knew little about. Calvin and Nick were deep in conversation with a slightly older guard, who seemed to have noticed Nicks' wistful eyes on his newly polished shotgun.

'That's why you wanna get yourselves promoted as soon as you can, boys.' He chuckled as he brandished his weapon proudly in clear view of the pair, particularly enjoying the look on Nicks' face as the latter sheepishly tried to hide his evident admiration. The trio had been discussing their experiences of the wasteland when the conversation had turned, much to Nicks' disdain, to dealings with wasteland critters and the tools used to this end. Nick, feeling out of his depth, turned away, slightly embarrassed. Whilst Calvin and the older man animatedly exchanged stories and compared weapons, Nick, in a desperate attempt to his sober his thoughts, focused his attention instead on his current job. Both he and Calvin were Caravan escorts. Their job, simply put, was to help escort trade convoys from their home town of Hamilton to other townships in the nearby region. Having been assigned two Brahmin with a given load of goods, their job was to take care of the animals over the course of the journey - ensuring their good health and the condition of the goods. The ultimate goal of an escort was to become an armed guard (normally acquired by possessing one's own decent firearm and proving oneself worthy of bearing it), though this could not be achieved until at least the age of 30. Nick particularly hated this additional hurdle. Surely, it makes no difference what age you were, so long as you can point a weapon in the right direction, stand your ground and fire? Calvin would make a perfect guard. Cool- headed, decent with a weapon, responsible… too bad they both still had another decade to wait, he mused, yawning, as he watched the flickering shadows of the troops wandering round the fire play upon the cliff face beyond, just like he had seen long ago in one of those tribal villages he had visited with his father and friend Jen back when he was nine (or was it eight?) before Calvin had even arrived. The thought of his father instantly brought a stab of emotion as he recalled that fateful day, several years ago now. The dancing shadows and radiating warmth of the fire were soothing him, relieving him of the strains of the day and the cold grip of the empty wastes beyond. He turned and lay back against a soft sack of something, murmuring as sleep began to pervade his very being.

'Dad...'


End file.
